


Comfort & Joy

by UrsulaAngstrom



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrsulaAngstrom/pseuds/UrsulaAngstrom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My Slash Television version of the scene where Hutch makes that romantic pot roast dinner for Starsky.  Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort & Joy

Comfort & Joy

by Ursula Angstrom  
(originally shared in 2003 under the pen name of Seau)

Starsky was overwhelmed. Even before the first savory bite of pot roast melted in his mouth with tantalizing delight.

Hutch had called his mother in New York and asked her for her recipe for pot roast. Always a compulsive tinkerer in the kitchen, Hutch had left out some ingredients and added others, improvising until he made it better, because he knew Starsky did not like celery.

Hutch was not his mother. Hutch didn't put celery in pot roast just because it was good for him. Hutch did THAT to the milk shakes he made for himself in the morning--and Starsky refused to drink those after Hutch tricked him into drinking one of those health food shakes once. Hutch thought his eating habits were deplorable too, but the purpose of comfort food was to comfort, not annoy the Hell out of you. Hutch understood that; his mother didn't.

Starsky was very happy that he didn't have to pick celery chunks out of the gravy and pile them on a saucer. That's why he liked Hutch's beef stew better than his Mom's too. Hutch always made two pans of stew: one with peas and one without peas. As far as Starsky was concerned, peas were only good for one thing: ammunition to put on a spoon to start a food fight. Peas tasted WAY too nasty to eat. Nastier than celery.

When Hutch invited him over for dinner Starsky had warned his buddy that he wouldn't be very good company tonight. Memories, regrets, and the harsh finality of murder had made him depressed. 

He'd asked Helen to marry him two years ago and she said no. They'd went their separate ways and never looked back after they broke up. He hadn't thought about her for months. Now she was dead. Murdered by a psycho they apprehended. 

Death meant there could be no second chances.  
Case closed. Wounds open.   
Some of the wounds were new. Some of the wounds were old.   
He couldn't tell which wounds hurt worse.  
Starsky's heart felt like it was full of scabs.

Haunted by Maybes, What Might Have Been, and No's, Starsky showed up on Hutch's doorstep feeling besieged by ghosts. Kind of like Scrooge when he was being visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future, but weirder--because this was life, not fiction--and life never made sense like the plots of most books did. 

Life was all jumbled up and confusing, like a tangled ball of yarn. 

Perplexed and morose, Starsky drove over to Hutch's place reluctantly, full of second thoughts about accepting the invitation, because he didn't want to bum Hutch out with his bad mood. They'd been cooped up in the Torino all day doing their thing. As long as they were busy, Starsky had no time to brood. As soon as there was a lull though, he'd lapse back into his funk. Hutch would look at him with those worried blue eyes and ache for him because he was brooding about things neither of them could fix.

Some things you could change. Some things you couldn't. You had to pick your battles carefully--and they were both hopelessly quixotic. Hutch more so tonight, because his White Knight rode to his rescue with comfort food.

Starsky chuckled every time he thought of the cartoon that popped into his mind when he saw the table and smelled the delicious aromas. Hutch, blond hair gleaming in the sun, white armor spotless as polished ivory, riding a palomino charger galloping fast--a jousting lance tucked under one arm--and a roasting pan full of pot roast tucked under the other.

Hutch was a hopeless romantic and a sentimental fool. Two of the things Starsky loved most about the big lug.

I just hope I'm not jumping to the wrong conclusions here, Starsky thought, wondering if brooding could become a chronic condition if you did it for too long or too often.

Expecting that they'd order a pizza, crash on the couch, drink beer and watch a ball game, Starsky didn't dress up before he drove to Hutch's cottage by the canal. He wore a faded blue shirt and comfortable jeans because he wanted to relax and hang out with his best buddy. 

You could have knocked him over with a feather when Hutch opened the door and the sight of him in that yellow turtleneck pullover knocked his eyes out. Starsky felt blinded by a solar eclipse when he saw Hutch in that casually elegant shirt. Hutch was dazzling! He looked like human sunlight.

Hutch looked so damn stunning in that shirt, Starsky felt like that girl in the old Greek legend. The one who went blind staring at the sun--because she spent all day looking at the sky--waiting for the Sun God Helios to ride by on his flying chariot so she could catch a mere glimpse of him.

What was her name? Starsky wondered, struck dumb by Hutch's beauty.

"Clytie…" Starsky murmured absent-mindedly, making Hutch laugh because Starsky blushed when he realized he'd muttered the gist of his secret thoughts out loud.

"Geszundheit!" Hutch teased, because when you whisper that name it DOES sound like a soft sneeze.

"Smart ass," Starsky grumbled self-consciously. "That's the last compliment you're getting' out of me about how great you look in that shirt."

"Thanks!" Hutch laughed, shutting the door behind his charming partner.

Starsky's eyes were warm with appreciation as he admired the way Hutch looked in the outfit he'd chose to wear tonight. That yellow shirt was a magnet. Starsky couldn't take his eyes off how it clung to Hutch's shoulders and made his forearms look so sexy because Hutch had the sleeves pushed up. 

The turtleneck collar was the only thing Starsky couldn't decide if he liked or not as he put his hands on his hips and smiled at his partner. Hutch had a long muscular neck that Starsky found very attractive. Starsky had fetish dreams about the tiny moles on the right side of Hutch's neck and he couldn't see them when Hutch wore turtlenecks. 

But he liked the way Hutch looked in turtlenecks too. It was a never-ending erotic dilemma.

The sky blue turtleneck sweater Hutch wore sometimes made him look like a Nordic god. Hutch looked drop dead gorgeous in his 'Thor sweater', because it made him look as lofty as a deity if something made his mood turn haughty or imperious while he was wearing that sweater. Starsky's balls secretly reverberated like a gong that had just been rung every time he saw Hutch in that blue sweater. 

When Hutch wore the soft black turtleneck sweater it made Starsky's hands itch like mad! He wanted to touch Hutch all over when he wore that sweater. Hutch looked like a gorgeous blond diamond in a black velvet jewelry box when he wore that sweater. After riding around with Hutch all day in the Torino when he wore that black sweater, Starsky went home and had the kinkiest dreams about being a cat burglar who stole Hutch's heart while he fondled the jewels hidden in that plump Viking pouch nestled between those long coltish legs.

But this yellow turtleneck pullover looked fantastic on Hutch too. 

"That yellow shirt is a real eye-popper, Hutch. It makes you look like Helios."

"Is that why you babbled Clytie when I opened the door?"

Hutch took the sting out of his sarcastic words by tousling his curls affectionately before he pulled Starsky into a hello hug.

Starsky loved it when Hutch impulsively tangled those long fingers in his curls like that. It made him happy and it made him melt.

"You knocked my eyes out, Hutch. My memory don't work when my heart skips a beat like that. I couldn't think of her name. When I did, it just tumbled out."

Hutch was glowing inside by the time Starsky told him how much he liked his new shirt.

"I love it when you babble," Hutch murmured as he hugged Starsky again. "You're adorable when you're mind unravels."

"I'm adorable 24/7. Ask anybody."

"Anybody?" Hutch sassed, eyebrows arched.

"Almost anybody," Starsky conceded.

Hutch laughed as he called his partner an "Egotist."

Shrugging unrepentantly, Starsky said, "Just callin' 'em like I see 'em, Babe. That's candor, not egotism."

"In Starskyworld perhaps, but not on the planet Earth," Hutch teased as Starsky followed him into the kitchen.

Inhaling the delicious aromas deeply, Starsky's face was wreathed in smiles as he said, "What smells so wonderful?"

"Pot roast."

"Pot roast! I love pot roast!"

"I know. That's why I called your Mom and asked her how she made it for you when you were a kid."

"You did?!" Starsky was flabbergasted. "Why?"

Tangling his fingers in Starsky's curls again with tender poignancy, Hutch looked deep into his buddy's eyes, his own eyes aching with love and the need to nurture someone he cared about so much.

"Because I thought it might cheer you up," Hutch murmured, reluctant to allude to Helen, even obliquely. He knew the topic was unavoidable--because making Starsky forget her was the purpose of this mission of love--but he dreaded it.

Starsky's eyes clouded over for a moment, but the dark cloud was fleeting. The lustrous gleam was back in those sapphire eyes in no time as their eyes locked and Starsky found refuge in the eyes looking back at him with such understanding and such concern.

 

"You did all this for me?" Starsky marveled, stunned speechless again when he belatedly saw the table set for two--with candles and wine glasses an ice bucket keeping something cold. Probably a surprise for dessert…

"No, I did it for Sidney Poitier," Hutch sassed. "He's coming to dinner at eight."

Starsky loved old movies, and Guess Who's Coming To Dinner was one of his favorites, so the sarcastic quip made him laugh.

"I love anything with Tracy and Hepburn."

"I thought Bogie and Bacal were your favorites."

"They are. But I like Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn too."

"What about Audrey Hepburn?" Hutch asked while he took the roasting pan full of pot roast out of the oven. Starsky stole a cornbread muffin out of the cupcake pan they were sitting in. Hutch had the pan sitting on a cake rack over the back burner so the heat from the oven would keep the muffins warm until he arrived.

"Yum…" Starsky praised, smiling as he munched.

Starsky swallowed the dense, vaguely gritty bread with appreciation as he said, "Sweet! You put a little sugar in the batter this time."

Hutch thought that the Jiffy Mix corn muffins were sweet enough, but Starsky was right about adding that extra touch of sugar. It made the cornbread muffins taste even better.

Hopping off the counter so he could grab a root beer out of the frig, Starsky made himself at home and looked for the butter dish while he was in there too.

"You can't ruin a good thing by adding another good thing to it," Starsky philosophized.

"It's on the table," Hutch murmured, knowing Starsky was searching for butter to spread on the other half of his muffin.

Starsky could only eat half a muffin without butter. He claimed bread made him crave butter.

Hutch kept his opinion to himself regarding Starsky's Good Things Theory, because Hutch was cynical about such things and he didn't like to admit it. Anything--but in moderation was an axiom that made sense to Hutch. Starsky, on the other hand, was still trying to figure out what excess was--especially when it came to food. The man ate on and off all day and he never seemed to gain more than 10 pounds that he never had trouble losing when his jeans got too tight to snap. Hutch had to count calories and censure everything he put in his mouth, or he'd be as big as his Aunt Edna in six months if he ate what he wanted.

Starsky's metabolism raced like the torqued up engine of his Torino. The man was a bouncy bundle of joyous energy. That's why it made Hutch crazy with worry when Starsky went into one of his rare funks. Starsky was an all or nothing kind of guy. He never did anything by half measures. When Starsky got depressed, the man felt lower than a snake's belly. 

Seeing the gleam back in those sapphire eyes--and watching Starsky hop onto his counter like a happy frog--made Hutch's heart soar. These were indicators that the fog of Starsky's melancholy lethargy was lifting. Hutch was glad.

Hutch watched Starsky saunter over to the table and butter his muffin over a plate. Then he licked the tip of his index finger so the golden crumbs would adhere to his skin when he cleaned up the mess he made. 

Just watching Starsky lick his finger turned Hutch on. Hutch knew he had it bad for his handsome partner when Starsky's finger seemed like a tiny penis to his overheated imagination.

"Good to the last crumb," Starsky praised, before he held his right hand under his left so he'd catch the crumbs that fell when he took a bite of his buttered muffin.

Starsky was a compulsive nibbler. He had to munch on something if there was anything cooking in the kitchen. Hutch found the habit endearing, even though it made him envious when his stomach was growling with hunger.

Shaking his head back and forth like a bemused dog, Starsky patted Hutch's growling belly affectionately after he wiped his fingers on a kitchen towel so he wouldn't get butter on Hutch's yellow shirt.

"Stoic," Starsky grumbled amiably before he said, "Open up."

Then he shoved the rest of the muffin into Hutch's mouth like it was a piece of wedding cake--and marveled at the expressions that flitted over Hutch's face like a kaleidoscope as he watched him munch on the muffin.

Starsky loved to watch Hutch eat. Hutch had a decadently sensual mouth. Starsky loved to watch it move when Hutch talked, ate, or sang. Starsky was tormented by secret fantasies about kissing those luscious lips.

"Good?" Starsky asked, when Hutch looked a little dazed.

"Much better," Hutch said, blushing because he wasn't thinking about the extra sugar in the muffins right now.

Suppressing the urge to chuckle made Starsky's washboard abs spasm with joy.

Hutch was so adorable when he got bashful.

The big blond mushball makes my favorite meal, creates a romantic setting full of the promise of coming intimacy, then he blushes like a virgin bridegroom when I shove a muffin in his mouth like a piece of wedding cake, Starsky marveled. You're not the only one who can drop provocative hints, Babe.

"Need some help with that?" Starsky inquired.

Hutch's hands were trembling as he picked up the potholders again and wrapped them around the hot handles of the roasting pan.

"Nope. Just grab the muffins and follow me." Hutch replied cheerfully.

Starsky happily grabbed the muffins and tumbled them into the breadbasket that was waiting next to the stove. Then he carried the oblong basket to the table as he admired the wonderful view he had of Hutch's ass in those tight pants.

Hutch set the pan of pot roast diagonally on the far corner of the table on top of two metal trivets that kept the pan from scorching the wooden table. Starsky sat the basket of bread down next to it after he gave his partner's ass an affectionate slap.

"You really went all out, Blintz. This is wonderful. Thanks."

We slap each other like that all the time when we played touch football; don't get your hopes up, Hutch admonished himself.

His cock was oblivious to the scolding. His blintz rose like a breadstick in a warm oven when Starsky slapped him on the ass.

"Don't thank me yet," Hutch admonished Starsky self-consciously. "You haven't tasted the pot roast yet."

"Don’t have to taste it," Starsky said as he eagerly sat down at the table. "It smells fantastic!" 

“Thanks,” Hutch murmured.

"Dish it up," Starsky insisted, handing Hutch his plate as he tossed his napkin on his lap with his free hand.

Wondering why Starsky wasn't tucking his napkin into his shirt like he usually did, Hutch felt distracted and conspicuous while he served up a generous serving of the juicy pot roast in its own gravy. Trembling expectantly, Hutch fervently hoped that Starsky wasn't offended by all the subliminal messages he was telegraphing as he went through with this audacious stunt.

Hutch had never done something so recklessly impulsive in his life. But he'd been compelled to do this by an obsession that was far from pure and only half noble. 

He loved his best friend with all of his heart. He wanted to do more than comfort Starsky. He wanted to console him. He wanted to take Starsky in his arms and love him forever. He wanted to protect him from heartbreakers like Helen, and make sure he never wept heart's blood over a woman that wasn't worthy of him again.

He was being woefully obvious. Calling Starsky's mother like a new spouse trying to ingratiate himself with his lover's mother when they weren't even lovers yet. 

Leah Starsky's wary response to his inquiry made Hutch realize that he was venturing onto a precarious tightrope without a net beneath him. Starsky's mother was no fool. Hutch never talked so fast in his life! He felt like a used car salesman after he hung up the phone.

Not wanting to worry Starsky's mother by telling her that Helen had been murdered, Hutch kept that truth to himself, and told the older truth that was exacerbating Starsky's depression. "Starsky was dumped by his girlfriend and it's bummed him out. All those white picket fence hopes went up in smoke, and Starsk is convinced he's doomed to be a bachelor for the rest of his life. I've been divorced twice. I know he's better off staying single, but he can't see it that way right now. If the right one comes along it'll happen. If it doesn't, I want to teach him that we can make our own pot roast. We don't need a wife to do something like that for us."

"True," Leah had responded shrewdly. "But I doubt my son is mourning the loss of this girl's home cooking. I'm sure there are plenty of restaurants in California that serve good food. David likes to eat, but he's more interested in the type of cooking that happens between the sheets."

"Leah!" Hutch had scolded her, surprised by her lewd candor.

Leah laughed and she said, "David's told me that you are a good cook. Teach him how to make pot roast AND introduce him to a nice girl, Ken. Food is a poor consolation for love. Food just makes you fat; love makes you happy."

But I don't want to introduce him to a nice girl, Hutch thought selfishly when he hung up the phone. Nice boys know how to love someone special too.

"This is nice," Starsky murmured when Hutch sat down next to him at the short end of the rectangular table. Starsky had one half of the table all to himself, because Hutch put the comfort of his guest first.

Surprised and intrigued Starsky watched Hutch gallantly light the candles. Hutch looked so damn romantic when he did that Starsky watched him like he was performing a magic trick.

They were both surprised when Starsky didn't murmur "Wow…" like he'd murmured "Clytie" after Hutch opened the door.

"Wine?" Hutch murmured, sparkling like sunlight when he smiled at Starsky.

Now that he was sitting down, Hutch felt more confident. The table would hide the fact that his knees were knocking and his cock was begging for mercy. He hoped!

Starsky noticed everything. He might pretend to be fooled, but he seldom was.

"Please," Starsky murmured, their eyes locking appreciatively as they cooed like horny turtledoves.

Starsky felt like he was purring inside. Hutch looks like he wants to trill like a pigeon, Starsky thought, when he reached out and affectionately massaged Hutch's neck.

Before he ended the one-handed hug, Starsky let his fingers briefly cavort in the luminous blond hair that tumbled over the collar of Hutch's turtleneck at the nape of his neck. They reached out to each other like this all the time in the Torino. Neck rubs and belly pats were two of the many ways they touched each other when they wanted to express affection or when one of them needed to be comforted.

"You tryin' to spoil me, Hutch?"

"If you'll let me,' Hutch replied with a sunny seductive smile.

"Let you? Babe, this is an incentive I can't refuse. Spoil me rotten!"

Closing his eyes as he inhaled the fragrant steam wafting from his plate, Starsky reluctantly untangled the fingers of his left hand from Hutch's hair and picked up his fork.

A toast would have been inappropriate in the wake of Helen's death. This was not a celebration. But it was no longer a solemn occasion either. The time for mourning was over. Life was for the living. Memories of the dead who were loved and lost long before they were claimed by death had no place at such a feast. 

Hoping it didn't sound gauche, and not really caring if it did, Starsky lifted his fork exuberantly after he speared some of the succulent pot roast and said, "Here's to consolation parties." 

Then he took the first bite of Hutch's pot roast and it melted in his mouth like little slivers of heaven in gravy.

"Damn…" Starsky sighed orgasmically, savoring the wonderful flavors of the meat that lingered in his mouth even after he swallowed it.

"Edible?" Hutch asked.

"Incredible!" Starsky exuberantly assured his partner.

Starsky's compliment was sincere, but Hutch didn't believe he was that good of a cook yet.

Blushing, Hutch speared some pot roast onto his fork and said, "You're just saying that because there's no celery in there."

"You're too modest," Starsky insisted; digging into is meal with gusto because that first bite had made him ravenously hungry. "THIS is a carnivore's wet dream, Hutch. Try some."

Laughing, Hutch ate his first bite of pot roast. He was impressed by the results too.

Hutch was even hungrier than Starsky, so they ate happily in companionable silence for a few minutes until their initial Feed Me! Feed Me! Feed Me! response to the beguiling aroma of the food was appeased. Then they slowed down and lingered over their meal, enjoying the experience immensely.

"Edith was right," Hutch murmured as he savored the flavors with his gourmand's palate.

"Right about what?" Starsky asked with his mouth full.

"When I called her for advice she said to cook with the wine I was going to serve for dinner. Some of the recipes in the cookbooks at the library called for cooking sherry. I've got that, but I didn't like the way it tasted when I spooned some of the broth into a bowl and added a couple of drops of sherry. So I called Edith and asked her if she knew how to make the broth taste better. When I told her I was serving Bordeaux she told me to add that sparingly."

"What does that mean? Is sparingly more than a pinch or less than a dash?" 

Hutch laughed.

"I know what you mean. That drives me crazy too. Everybody's fingers are different. I like to cook but the trial and error of it makes me crazy sometimes. It's wasteful when I ruin what I'm preparing because I don't know what I'm doing yet."

Spoken like a true Virgo, Starsky thought affectionately as he said, "Well, you got this right on the first try, Babe. No need for ‘practice makes perfect’ on this one. You hit a home run your first time at bat."

Getting up so he could serve himself, Starsky took the lid off the pan with a potholder and set it upside down on one of the empty chairs. Hutch ate slower than he did so he wasn't ready for a second helping yet. 

Proud of his accomplishment, Hutch glowed with delight when Starsky said, "This is Bovine Ambrosia!" as he dug into the pot roast with the serving spoon.

"Bovine ambrosia," Hutch chortled, taking a quick sip of water because he'd choked on a sliver of onion laughing as he was swallowing.

Starsky didn't relax until he knew Hutch was okay.

"Sorry," Starsky murmured. He wasn't looking at Hutch when he made that comment so he felt guilty for making Hutch choke.

Laughing again, Hutch said, "Sorry for what? Making me laugh until I glow? Keep that up and you're gonna make me believe I can quit my day job and open a restaurant."

"You could," Starsky insisted, offering Hutch a second helping of pot roast before he sat down again.

"Not yet," Hutch demurred, dawdling over his first helping because he'd gained a few pounds that nobody could see but him.

Starsky's sigh was not quite exasperated, but it was not a sigh of resignation either, as he impishly lifted up Hutch's yellow pullover and looked at his partner's flat belly.

"I'm a detective. I know where to look for these things, Hutch. I do NOT see any love handles under here. Nor do I see any flab. Have some more pot roast!"

Laughing, Hutch saluted Starsky as he tugged his shirt back down comically like he was a prim and proper prude.

"Aye, aye, General Gastronome!" Hutch sassed as he got up, took his plate of cold food into the kitchen and left it on the counter. Then he got a clean plate out of the cupboard and dished himself up a hot serving of pot roast from the pan.

"Peaches is going to go nuts when I bring her home those leftovers in a doggie bag," Starsky said, referring to the untouched food on Hutch's plate and the dog who lived in the apartment beneath his in his new treehouse digs.

Hutch didn't like yappy little dogs, so he hadn't made friends with the fierce little Pekingese who lived with Mrs. Chen. Hutch preferred big dogs. Little dogs often made him feel ambivalent.

Chattering happily, Starsky told Hutch more about his new neighbors as they finished their meal. Hutch listened attentively, delighted to see Starsky so animated again. 

His partner was back! Starsky's Tigger-like enthusiasm for minutiae never ceased to amaze Hutch. Starsky made the most mundane things seem interesting and fun because his enthusiasm and zest for life were contagious. Mrs. Chen was a doll. Birds had made a nest in the tree that grew through the hole in his second-floor deck. Peaches was cool once you got to know her. "She just uppity because her ancestors used to guard Chinese palaces," Starsky said.

"Who? Mrs. Chen or Peaches?"

"Peaches! Pekingese were royal guard dogs," Starsky insisted.

"Says who?" Hutch laughed as poured Starsky some more wine.

"Mrs. Chen. She used to be a history teacher when she lived in China. She should know."

"Ankle biting guard dogs?" Hutch chortled skeptically. "I could drop kick Peaches across a room if she latched onto my bell bottoms, Starsky."

"But you wouldn't."

"I wouldn't, but a burglar would. Great Danes are big enough to guard palaces. Pekingese MIGHT be able to guard a Great Dane's doghouse."

"All I know is what Mrs. Chen told me, Hutch. The ancient Chinese venerated those dogs like the Egyptians venerated those cats with the pierced ears."

"Abyssinians," Hutch said.

"Right. I'll Be Seeing You's," Starsky quipped, his mouth full of pot roast again.

Hutch giggled as he tousled Starsky's curls.

"You're nuts!"

"Abyssinian is Egyptian for Voyeur Cat," Starsky joked salaciously.

Hutch had laughed more in the few years he'd known David Starsky than he'd laughed in all the years he'd lived before he met the gorgeous scamp. Starsky made Hutch feel sublime. Hutch could be content at times when he was alone, but the only time he was ever truly happy was when he was with Starsky.

"Voyeur Cat?" Hutch chortled. "That sounds like a kinky super hero."

"He is!" Starsky said, grooving with the fantasy they were making up as they jived along.

"He's the mascot at Starskyworld," Starsky said, remembering the tangent his mind went on earlier when Hutch coined that phrase.

"Oh God…" Hutch groaned, wondering what was going through Starsky's wild mind right now.  
"What did I start in that curly brain of yours now?"

"Really cool ideas," Starsky said. Gesturing expansively with his hands Starsky made an imaginary banner in the air above the table. "I can see it now… Starskyworld: An Erotic Theme Park For The Kinky At Heart."

Hutch laughed so uproariously neither one of them were surprised when they heard ducks quacking indignantly as they flew over his cottage like Santa's reindeer.

"You scared the ducks away," Hutch teased, scowling at his partner facetiously.

"I scared the ducks away?" Starsky scoffed. "YOU scared the ducks away ya Big Blond Whooping Loon!"

Hand covering his ornery smirk in vain, Hutch's eyes sparkled wickedly as he said, "And WHAT, pray tell, are some of the attractions at Starskyworld?"

"Well, there's the Love Roller Coaster," Starsky said, ticking the wild ideas off on his fingers as he rambled. 

"Torinos that float in The Tunnel of Love."

"Costumed bears that run around giving people hugs in honor of our pal Huggy Bear."

"Huggy'll love that!" Hutch predicted.

"Who wouldn't?"

"The concession stand will serve Hutch Burgers and Starsky Fries."

"As long as the Hutch Burgers are soy burgers."

"You're sick! Next thing you'll wanna do is have vendors with pushcarts roamin' around the park yelling, 'Goat's milk! Get your goat's milk!' It ain't happenin', Pal. Not in Starskyworld. If it don't clog your arteries, it don't get slapped on the grill."

Hutch laughed.

"I assume you'll be having root beer on tap."

"Damn right!"

"But you don't get to go inside the Fornication Tent unless you ring the Strongman's bell first," Starsky stipulated salaciously as he waggled his eyebrows.

"DING!" Hutch shouted, as Starsky began chair-dancing while he sang Anita Ward's one and only hit song: "Ring my bell-el-el, ring my bell!"

"I've gotta stop you from going to discos. You shook your booty so hard you lost your marbles," Hutch teased.

"No I didn't," Starsky purred as he stood up, bent over, and mooned Hutch.

Looking at his laughing partner upside down between his splayed legs, Starsky smiled and said, "My marbles are still back there. I can see 'em."

Hutch laughed so hard he nearly fell off the wooden chair!

Swatting that luscious rump playfully, Hutch got up and took his second unfinished plate of pot roast into the kitchen. 

He had to get away from Starsky before he gave into the temptation to yank Starsky into his arms and shove his hand between his legs. Hutch wanted to roll those succulent 'marbles' between his fingers so much he thought he was going to go out of his mind with longing!

They showered side-by-side at the precinct or the gym almost every day. You'd think I'd be used it by now, Hutch mused, feeling more tormented not less tormented. Beguiled by stolen glimpses of his partner's magnificent genitalia, Hutch felt weak-kneed again as visions of those sugarplums danced in his head.

Starsky sauntered into the kitchen behind him as he scraped the leftovers into a plastic bowl for Peaches.

Admiring how Hutch's ass looked in those tight pants again, Starsky had to clench his hand into a fist to keep himself from caressing that clenched butt until it relaxed. He thought of the perfect come on line to make Hutch relax too: "Would you like me to ring your bell, Hutch?" 

Starsky had wanted to say something provocative like that Hutch for ages, but he'd never found the nerve to do it. Feeling like a coward--but a playful coward--Starsky stood next to Hutch and started dancing again. Nudging Hutch with his hip until Hutch did The Bump with him as he said, "Your LTD is going to be at Starskyworld too," Starsky said as they danced in the kitchen. 

"It is?" Hutch was surprised. Starsky hated his car WAY more than Hutch claimed to hate the Torino. "Where?" Hutch asked, playing along because he adored Starsky's spontaneity.

Starsky was bumping that awesome ass against his hips and his ass as they smiled at each other. They both tried to find the courage to shimmy their asses against the bulges that were tenting the flies of their jeans, but they both decided it was too soon to do something so suggestive.

"Guess?" Starsky teased him, gently bumping him into the counter.

"The Bumper Cars!"

"Where else? The Beige Embarrassment looks like it's already been there--or in a demolition derby," Starsky teased.

"My car's not beige, it's tan."

"Beige. Tan. What's the difference? Does anyone really know? It's like that pinch and dash thing, Hutch."

Giving his partner's butt a gentle, affectionate pinch, Starsky went back to the table and started gathering up the glasses and the silverware. He'd already brought his own plate into the kitchen when he followed Hutch because he needed a prop as an excuse to follow the sexy blond.

"Red is red. White is white. Black is black. But beige is like gray; it's a color having an identity crisis. It doesn't know what it wants to be when it grows up."

Hutch laughed, unable to avoid Starsky because the man was everywhere in his heart and in his head. Starsky was always saying maddeningly memorable things like this.

Starsky's theories were always unique and amusing.

Going back for the pot roast this time, Hutch brought the pan back into the kitchen as Starsky smiled at him as he went to get the muffins.

"What about blue?" Hutch rambled. Hutch felt like he was whistling in the dark to keep from being scared, because he was suddenly feeling nervous again as he was faced with WHAT NEXT?

"Blue's distinctive," Starsky insisted. "Say 'turquoise' and people think of the sky. Say 'navy blue' and people know exactly what color you're talking about. Say 'powder blue' and people think of blankets covering a sleeping baby boy in a crib."

Starsky smiled when he thought of the last image. 

Knowing he could never give Starsky a curly-haired bundle of joy to cuddle, Hutch's heart shattered into a million pieces and cut his soul to shreds.

Turning away quickly, so Starsky wouldn't see the pain in his eyes, Hutch said, "What about green?" 

His voice sounded gruff to his own ears too, so Hutch faked a cough to camouflage his distress.

Starsky wasn't fooled. He knew Hutch too well. When Hutch choked up like that it meant he was suppressing some tumultuous emotions. 

Staying calm and focused, Starsky said, "Emerald green is darker than grass green, and jade green is darker than sea foam green."

"But we could argue about forest green and hunter green," Hutch predicted.

"Not really. You find hunters in the forest, Hutch. It's a moot point."

Starsky knew why Hutch was suddenly being so evasive and acting so furtive, but he acted like he didn't notice it so his thin-skinned, perfectionist, blond bombshell would take the hint and quit chastising himself so mercilessly. 

Hutch knew he over-reacted to the baby comment and now he was silently raking himself over the coals for something neither of them could change.

Hoping to turn back time and recapture their earlier mood, Hutch smiled at Starsky sheepishly and said, "What about yellow?"

Starsky laughed and said, "Yellow is definitely your color, Blintz. It makes you look so blond."

"I thought black made me look blond," Hutch murmured, shamelessly fishing for compliments because he was suddenly feeling very insecure and unappealing.

"Black makes you look twice as blond," Starsky repeated an old compliment he'd uttered long ago, the first time he saw Hutch dressed all in black.

When he reached out and ran his fingers seductively through that silky blond hair, Hutch shivered with desire.

You're hooked, Baby Blue, Starsky gloated in the privacy of his own thoughts. You're dangling on the end of my hook like a Big Blond Sunfish.

All I gotta do is reel you in, Starsky thought triumphantly.

Kiss me. Please kiss me, Hutch thought longingly, his body quaking in anticipation when Starsky lovingly caressed his face and then his neck.

"You look stunning in yellow, Hutch."

Hutch was astonished when Starsky leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. The brief kiss was so sweet and so gentle it made Hutch want to weep because it was so poignant and so beautiful.

When Starsky raked those possessive fingers through his hair and slowly deepened the kiss until their tongues twined like writhing dancers, Hutch clung to Starsky like a drowning man grabbing onto flotsam from a shipwreck.

Finally having that gorgeous masculine body trapped in the undeniable intimacy of a passionate kiss was too much for them. The intensity of their mutual desire was staggering!

Hutch was probably the one who stumbled, because he was occasionally klutzy, but Starsky felt so disoriented he couldn't be sure that he didn't cause them to fall. Usually he was as nimble as a mountain goat, but for the first time in his life Starsky felt bow-legged.

They bounced off the counter and the wall like ricocheting pinballs and somehow they ended up on their knees in the middle of the kitchen floor still kissing each other fervently.

Hutch couldn't wait to touch that chest hair! So he ripped Starsky's shirt open like he was freeing Superman from a garment made of Kyrptonite.

Starsky smiled like a satyr as he watched Hutch devour his muscular chest and torso with hot covetous eyes.

Hutch was breathing heavily. Exhaling audibly through his nose in short ragged bursts like a horny stud bull contemplating a lone stampede into the breeding pen.

"Take it off!" Hutch growled, his wild hands rampaging through the curls on Starsky's head because he was savoring the anticipation of touching of Starsky elsewhere as long as he could.

Grinning wantonly, Starsky tugged his blue shirt out of his jeans and rolled his shoulders out of the tight garment as Hutch watched him avidly. Starsky undulated like an exotic dancer as he stripped, those washboard abs rippling provocatively as Starsky did this sensual writhing wiggle that made those trim hips irresistible to Hutch.

As soon as Starsky was out of the shirt, Hutch grabbed a handful of curls and maniacally caressed one lean hip as he pressed Starsky backwards with a savage kiss until his bow-legged beauty was prone on the kitchen floor. Starsky was incredibly limber. He flowed backwards as gracefully as a gymnast, effortlessly trapping Hutch between those bowed legs when he eagerly curled them around blond's restless yearning body.

Hutch kissed him breathless and made himself dizzy too. 

"Scene Stealer," Starsky murmured as he caressed that handsome flushed face. "I'm supposed to make YOU see stars," Starsky quipped as Hutch nuzzled his palms with a dreamy smile on his face. 

Ken’s ice-fire blue eyes greedily admired every muscle in Starsky’s arms as they lovingly captured him in a possessive hug.

"I am seeing stars," Hutch murmured between adoring kisses. "The most beautiful star in the universe."

The kiss Hutch gave him to punctuate that compliment made Starsky melt. 

The husky sound of Starsky’s lusty laughter turned Hutch on when his partner said, "I'm stardust now, Blintz."

It thrilled Hutch to know that he could pulverize Starsky with a kiss too.

Starsky's intense sexuality and obvious virility intimidated Hutch. The aggression he felt right now was a primal reaction to Starsky's feral beauty and self-confidence. But Hutch feared he did not have enough testosterone in his body to keep up with the sexual dynamo beneath him. Starsky's appetite for sex was insatiable. The fear that he wouldn't be able to satisfy Starsky paralyzed Hutch with dread.

What are you doing? Hutch yelled at himself in the privacy of his own frantic thoughts.  
You've never made love to a man before. Now that you've got him pinned to the floor, what do you plan to do with him, Genius?

Starsky didn't need to be a mind reader to know what made Hutch freeze with that Uh, Oh! look on his face. Hutch looked like Wyle E. Coyote did when the cartoon character suddenly realized he'd ran off a cliff while chasing The Road Runner. 

The expression on Hutch's face was comical as the blond's rampaging libido suddenly left him hanging in mid-air in a panic. It made Starsky laugh, so he said, "Me-Beep!" imitating the sound The Road Runner made when he ran away.

Hutch reacted to that sound instinctively, subduing Starsky with a frantic Don't Leave Me! kiss that made Starsky feel omniscient.

Hutch looked panicked, but the stubborn blond was determined to conquer every one of his fears to get what he wanted: Starsky in his bed, blissfully impaled on his cock.

Starsky was a daredevil. He liked to do impulsive things that gave him an illicit thrill. Hutch was reckless at times too, but the stubborn blond denied it. 

Starsky threw Hutch a verbal life preserver and gave him an out if he wanted to take it.

Tenderly raking his fingers through that gleaming blond hair, Starsky smiled at his partner benevolently and murmured, "Angels rush in…" Then he pardoned Hutch with a kiss that was a wistful loving reprieve. Brave, but aching for Hutch as he said, "Feelin' like you jumped out of an airplane without a parachute, Babe?"

"Yeah," Hutch sighed raggedly; collapsing into Starsky's arms like a deflating balloon.

Starsky hugged him reassuringly, letting Hutch know that he could walk away from this and their friendship would be a little bruised until the bruises healed. No irreparable damage done.

Hutch almost pulled away, but he didn't. Because he didn't want Starsky to think he was all hot air.

"Helluva rush," Hutch murmured as he pulled back, balancing himself on one hand as he caressed Starsky's cheek with his other hand.

Hutch loved how Starsky melted beneath his lips when he tenderly kissed that sexy little mole imbedded in his partner's left cheek. Starsky reacted to that kiss so dreamily, Hutch tenderly kissed the smaller mole under Starsky's right eye.

Hutch knew he was forgiven when Starsky grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him into a devouring kiss. Starsky rolled him onto the floor briefly but quickly sat down between his splayed thighs and gathered him into those strong loving arms until they were sitting up face-to-face, Starsky's sexy bowed legs wrapped around him with erotic tenacity.

Hands trembling, wild with desire, Starsky abruptly yanked the sunny turtleneck pullover off of Hutch's body and threw it over his shoulder. As soon as Ken's chest was bare, Starsky attacked his partner's neck like a smitten vampire. 

Hutch yielded with a yearning whimper that turned Starsky inside out. The big blond all but swooned in his arms when Starsky swirled his tongue between the twin moles on the right side of that long muscular neck.

Aroused to a fever pitch by Starsky's eroticism, Hutch slipped his hands under that awesome ass and scooped Starsky close. Then he forced Starsky back onto the floor again hovering over him with his neck bared in sensual offering. Hutch was eager to please Starsky in any way that turned the crazed sex fiend on.

Starsky wantonly kissed his way from Hutch's neck to his chest, driving Hutch crazy when he relentlessly teased the coppery little nipples that were difficult but delightful to torment, because they were so small and so sensitive. 

Starsky loved to make Hutch writhe. 

He couldn't wait to make Hutch undulate like that when Ken was inside him. Starsky needed an infusion of Blond Blintz so desperately he felt like a love junkie in need of a fix.

Peeling his lips away from Hutch's neck again, Starsky hugged his partner ardently and murmured, "Aw, Hutch…" with plaintive, heart-melting desire. "I want you so bad. I need you so much," Starsky babbled, desire making him high on pure lust.

Starsky loved the way his Blond Dragon looked poised over him like some ravenous beast. Hutch looked glorious with his head thrown back in ecstasy when he was kissing him all over. Every sun-kissed muscle in his arms and chest was still flushed rose-gold from the fire of his passion.

Starsky had never wanted anyone so much.

Hutch was astonished by Starsky's sexual ferocity when his partner suddenly tore open his belt and yanked down his jeans while they devoured each other with kisses.

Hutch's startled yelp turned into a relieved groan when his cock was finally liberated.

Starsky enjoyed watching Hutch's torpedo spring out of its denim/cotton prison like a guided missile.

Hutch wanted him bad too.

That big lusty cock was so erect with wild yearning Hutch looked like he was on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

"Take me Hutch! Please!" Starsky groaned.

The longing on Starsky's face was undeniable. The yearning in his voice irresistible.

Hutch wanted to comply, but he'd never made love to a man before. His need for Starsky was so intense right now he was afraid he'd accidentally hurt his friend because he didn't know what he was doing.

A man's body was so different; so familiar--yet so foreign--under these circumstances. Hutch was overwhelmed.

Starsky's audacity amazed Hutch. He was so ready, so willing, so trusting.

Awed by Starsky's bravery, and honored that Starsky trusted him so implicitly, Hutch was forced by love to refuse Starsky that which he wanted most.

"No," Hutch gasped breathlessly, heart aching more than his balls. "I don't want to hurt you."

Starsky was already hurting from wanting Hutch so much. But the hurting scowl on his face turned into a wondrous smile when he realized Hutch was a novice. He'd never done it with a man before.

Hutch had the face of a fallen angel. Starsky couldn't believe that decadent mouth had never sucked cock before.

Hutch seemed so worldly, so suave, so jaded… Starsky was so astonished that he would be Ken’s first, he fell in love with his Viking pirate-prince all over again.

"You won't hurt me," Starsky whispered seductively, determined to entice Hutch tonight.

Offering Hutch everything with wild abandon, Starsky fervently kissed and caressed that gorgeous worried face, then he pulled Hutch close as he said, "I can take it, Babe. Rip off my jeans and give me everything you got."

Hutch couldn't resist the urge to rip off those tight jeans! He tore them off Starsky's body so savagely his partner yowled like a skewered alleycat when his cock twanged and reverberated from the rough disrobing.

Starsky had already kicked off his shoes. When Hutch peeled off the dark socks, Starsky was naked. Naked and VERY aroused.

Starsky was so eager and so magnificent Hutch wanted to ravish him. Every drop of Viking pirate blood hurtling through his veins demanded that he claim the living treasure beneath him. Claim him for all eternity if he could.

"I'll hurt you," Hutch fretted, out of his mind with rampaging desire that he couldn't control without help, because his loins felt frayed.

"No you won't," Starsky assured him raggedly, clawing at the cupboard he could almost--but not quite--reach. "Dammit!" Starsky swore vehemently. "Open the damn door, Blintz!"

Starsky was so determined to get what he wanted he was willing to bully Hutch to get it.

Hutch was in his own kitchen but he was so delirious with desire he forgot what was in the cupboard until he saw the metal basket of gourmet cooking oils he had stashed in there.

Breaking the tension between them with laughter, Starsky pointed to the bottle of olive oil, leered salaciously, and said, "Do me, Popeye."

Rollicking with laughter, Hutch grabbed the bottle and eagerly broke the seal.

"Not until you do me first," Hutch insisted, pouring a little of the slick oil into Starsky's eager hands when his partner held them out and said, "Gimme!" Hutch was honored by Starsky's devotion when he saw those hands curled upward like he was about to receive a sacred offering.

Starsky's reverent eroticism made Hutch feel sanctified by love when Starsky sensuously rubbed the slick oil onto his raging erection like he was anointing the most intimate part of his partner’s body with oil that had been consecrated in a pagan temple.

Smiling beatifically when he realized Starsky was entranced by his cock, because this was a new experience for him too, Hutch relaxed and marveled at his good fortune, feeling blessed and reprieved at the same time.

"Damn you're hung," Starsky praised, intimidated now that he'd captured the surging beast in his gentle loving hands.

It was one thing to see Hutch's cock trapped inside his jeans or from a distance in the showers in the men's locker room. It was a whole different ball game when he held that bat in his hands.

He could wrap both hands around it and the uncircumcised crown of Hutch's captive cock glared at him like a one-eyed Cyclops tortoise.

"Look at this turtle!" Starsky marveled, making Hutch laugh.

The hands wrapped around his cock looked nothing like a turtle's shell, but to Starsky's playful mind his protruding cock looked like the head and neck of a turtle poking out of a shell.

Closing one eye comically as he pulled Hutch closer, Starsky peered into the emerging cockslit he could see as his thumbs coaxed Hutch's foreskin to retract.

"Peek-a-Boo!" Starsky teased.

Hutch laughed uproariously, as Starsky played with his cock like it was an amusing sex toy.

Face wreathed in smiles, Starsky laughed and said, "Great trick, Hutch. Do it again!" Starsky was wide-eyed with wonder the entire time he watched Hutch's foreskin retract like a weird alien eyelid.

"Can't" Hutch gasped raggedly as he writhed in ecstasy. "Once it retracts it stays like that until I come."

"Cool! I wish I had one of those."

"You did. For eight days," Hutch groaned his eyes half-closed in agonized erotic bliss.

"But I don't remember it, " Starsky sulked.

Consoling Starsky with a sensual kiss, Hutch pushed his playful lover back down onto the floor as he delightfully caressed Starsky's naked cock for the first time too.

The huge, wanton beast leapt into his hand like a trained snake, eager to please--and eager to play.

Starsky groaned as Hutch massaged his cock erotically; his fingers slick with oil too.

It feels so odd--but so wonderful--to feel another man's hand on my cock. The thought echoed in their minds simultaneously as they turned onto their sides so they could stroke each other with their dominant hands while they kissed.

"Perfect," Starsky purred. Their bodies locked together perfectly because he was left handed and Hutch was right handed. They could tantalize each other effortlessly.

"First time?" Hutch murmured precociously, marveling at his lusty treasure.

"Yeah," Starsky sighed blissfully; grooving to the way Hutch was stroking his throbbing cock. "You?" Starsky murmured impishly. He knew the answer before Hutch spoke, but he wanted to hear it anyway so he could revel.

"Yeah," Hutch whispered, blushing adorably.

Hutch looked proud and bashful at the same time.

Starsky laughed like a sybarite, kissing Hutch passionately then cuddling him adoringly.

My Virgin Viking," Starsky marveled as he caressed his partner's oft-coveted ass. "Who'd a thought?" Starsky crowed triumphantly.

"I'm not THAT promiscuous," Hutch bristled indignantly.

Slashing the air exuberantly with an imaginary sword, Starsky smiled and said, "You've cut a wide swath through the local ladies, Buccaneer."

"Wider than you?"

"We'd have to write all the names down and compare notes," Starsky replied as he teased Hutch's cock again.

"Now?" Hutch roared.

"No," Starsky chuckled. 

"Later…" Starsky said, shushing Hutch with a kiss.

"What does my track record with women have to do with…?"

Shushing Hutch with another kiss Starsky said, "I just assumed you'd had lots of affairs with men too after all those indignant rebukes and veiled hints you dropped when John Blaine was murdered."

Hutch bristled a bit at the indignant rebuke accusation, but he knew it was true. Hutch could be as prickly as a blond porcupine at times, but he was all too aware of his own foibles.

Fortunately, Starsky was an understanding man with a forgiving disposition.

Starsky was always honest. Flattered by the compliment in those candid words, Hutch laughed belatedly and said, "Nope. No affairs with men." Beguiling Starsky with delighted kisses, Hutch smiled ruefully and said, "I'm not that kind of a hedonist or that much of a stud."

"You coulda fooled me," Starsky said, never so happy to be wrong.

The relief and desire he saw on Starsky's face amused Hutch. It made him feel special and very desirable. "You are so good for my ego, you deluded oxygen-deprived sex maniac."

Laughing blissfully, Hutch reveled in the kinky sight and glorious feeling of Starsky affectionately stroking his cock while he did the same to Starsky.

Lost in the pleasure of touching and kissing each other they forgot what they were saying but not what they were doing.

Stroking each other rhythmically and lovingly, they kissed and cuddled and adored each other.

"Mine!" Hutch gasped greedily.

"Yours," Starsky vowed.

Hutch stroked Starsky so hard he made his partner groan.

"Mine?" Starsky teased as his masterful hand made Hutch whimper

"Always!" Hutch promised breathlessly.

Together they increased the tempo of their stroking. They didn't have to say a word. They just looked at each other and kissed, understanding each other perfectly.

Their rapport was even stronger with the added intimacy of sex. Their passion hurtling them towards orgasm like a runaway freight train because they loved each other so much.

Moaning and writhing they kept kicking up the tempo one notch at a time, until their hands were a blur of yearning motion and their cocks were screaming for release.

Struggling to hold out as long as they could, savoring their own pleasure as they dazzled each other, they reached the summit of the first towering hill together--and screamed in unison as they hurtled down the other side!

Whipping each other around curve after curve of elated erotic pleasure, their dizzying ride on love's roller coaster ended with a ball breaking splashdown that drenched their bellies with so much cum they felt like they'd dove cock-first into a water ride at an amusement park.

"Wow…" Starsky marveled breathlessly as his body quaked with post-coital tremors.

"That was incredible…" Hutch babbled, soul still soaring towards new heights of bliss every time his body twitched.

"Did we do that?" Starsky mumbled, feeling like he was tripping on acid.

"Do what?" Hutch murmured dreamily, too shattered to move until Starsky chuckled.

"Check out the size of this cum puddle dripping onto the floor, Blintz."

Starsky moved his curly head out of the way so Hutch could see their drenched bellies.

The sight of their mingled cum dripping off Starsky's body hair like rain from the tips of wet leaves was surreal.

The only thing wilder was their mingled cum sliding off his own smooth belly like melting icing on a warm cake.

Stroking Hutch's sticky-slick cock appreciatively, Starsky murmured, "You're juicy!"

The delightfully lewd compliment made Hutch giggle like a very naughty schoolboy. Starsky had always adored Hutch's boyish giggles; but that man-child chortling made his balls sizzle.

"We made one helluva mess," Hutch marveled as he smeared their cum into Starsky's body hair like he was playing with finger paints.

"Fifi's gonna be furious," Starsky predicted.

Hutch laughed unrepentantly as he imagined his covetous housemaid finding the mess that they made. "As long as it discourages her."

Fifi was definitely NOT his type. But she wished she was--much to Hutch's consternation.

"I plan on discouraging lots of women from pursuing you, Hutch. I want this beautiful blond body to be mine and only mine."

"Then take me to bed and make me yours, Starsky."

Starsky smiled at his ardent lover and said, "There's a big brass bed over there, Hutch."

"Think we can crawl over there?" Hutch quipped.

"Maybe," Starsky replied dubiously.

"Maybe after we rest a while," Hutch muttered sleepily; stifling an exhausted yawn.

"Maybe in our next lifetime," Starsky murmured, snuggling back into Hutch's arms again. "I'm shattered."

"Shattered like a stained glass window, Babe."

"What's that mean?" Starsky mumbled. Hutch could hear the curious smile in his sleepy voice.

Nuzzling Starsky's luxuriant curls as he held him close and tight, Hutch said, "It means you're beautiful and you make me feel consecrated. Like a sex slave in a pagan temple."

Starsky chuckled as he moved back and looked up into those sparkling crystal blue eyes.

"Since when have YOU been a slave to sex, Mr. I Can Take It Or Leave It?"

"I wasn't before, but I am now," Hutch predicted.

When those ice-fire eyes turned a molten shade of blue, like crystal in a glass blower’s flame, Starsky knew Hutch would do anything to please him. It made him feel very protective and incredibly blessed.

"Take me, Starsk," Hutch pleaded breathlessly.

"I will, Blintz. Repeatedly." Starsky vowed.

THE END


End file.
